


Wax. Feathers. Heat.

by RayShippouUchiha



Series: The Components of Construction [2]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Angst, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Kidnapping, M/M, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Violence, hurt!Tony
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-07-18 08:39:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7308001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RayShippouUchiha/pseuds/RayShippouUchiha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Side stories and character asides from The Limitations of Wax.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wax. Feathers. Heat.

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning that knowledge of The Limitations of Wax will more than likely be necessary for complete understanding of the events these vintages will cover. So I highly advise you read that before you come here.
> 
> Sooo someone asked me to elaborate on the conversation Jarvis had with Howard regarding Toni going to MIT.
> 
> Thus this was born:

Edwin Jarvis, or simply Jarvis as he’s known, has served the Stark family for a great many years already by the time the lady of the manor finally conceives.

Sir informs him first of course, as is appropriate, and then Ma’am gives him instructions as to what she wants the household staff to do in order to prepare for the new addition to the family.

Jarvis listens, takes note of all instructions and orders, and does his best to quiet his misgivings.

It is not his place to cast doubt but Jarvis must admit, if only to himself, that the idea of bringing a child into Stark Manor is … disquieting.

Maria Carbonell had been a vibrant young woman when Howard Stark had married her, beautiful, brilliant, and filled with Italian passion and drive.  Their marriage had seemed a good idea, had seemed like the meeting of two like-minded and complimentary personalities who would both support and elevate each other.

And yet, over the years, Jarvis has watched as they both changed.

More importantly Jarvis has watched as _Howard Stark_ changed.

Mr. Stark has always been high-strung, always been a man of extreme highs and lows.  He’s always been almost incandescent on his good days and a murky void on his worst.  Working with and for him has always been equal parts trial and adventure.

Truthfully Peggy, in all her magnificent strength and competence, has always been one of the few who could ground him from time to time.  Maria had, in the beginning, been another.  Sadly those times have grown further and further apart as the years have passed.

As a result Jarvis has been forced to watch rather helplessly from the sidelines as a coldness, a _darkness_ , slowly settled into both Howard and Maria in turn.

Howard falls deeper and deeper into the bottle, becomes more extreme in his highs and lows, and in response Maria buries herself in life as a cold society wife.

It is unfortunate and sad in many ways but Jarvis adjusts as all those in his position do.  It is, after all, not his place to neither judge nor interfere.

Eventually Howard staunchly becomes Sir and Maria Ma’am in a way that goes beyond the respect Jarvis has always shown his employers.

Still, Jarvis has to admit, despite their flaws Sir and Ma’am are both, in their own ways, still great people.

Fit to be parents?

Well Jarvis is less sure about that.

~~~

When the time comes Jarvis remains at the manor in order to finish any last minute arrangements that must be made for the arrival of the son Sir and Ma’am have both been anticipating.

The house staff are all in a tizzy, torn between equal parts excitement over the prospect of a child being added to the manor and dread in the face of Sir and Ma’am’s infamous tempers should something not meet their standards.

Jarvis gets them all in line and working with brutal efficiency.

The manor is scrubbed from top to bottom with even more attention to detail paid than normal.  The nursery is stocked with everything the baby might need, and Lydia, the wet nurse Jarvis had personally vetted, is settled comfortably into the room next door for convenience sake.

Now all there is left to do is to wait for the arrival of the new young sir.

~~~

Jarvis knows something is amiss as soon as Sir and Ma’am return to the manor.

He meets them at the door and steps out to grab the luggage from the car.  Sir storms past him into the manor and heads towards his workshop without a word, his face twisted in dark anger.  Ma’am glides in behind him calmly, face blank and shoulders straight.  The birth was hard on her Jarvis knows, but she’s as poised and elegant as always if a bit paler than normal.

Jarvis, for once, doesn’t linger on either of them though.  Instead his attention is stolen by the bundle of blue that’s been left behind in the car seat.  Jarvis carefully pulls the babe from the car and makes his way into the manor.

“Ma’am,” he calls and when she turns he steps forward to hand the child to her but Ma’am doesn’t give him a chance to say or do much else.  Instead she waves him off impatiently before she glides off towards her sitting room, the babe left behind without a backwards glance.

Jarvis is momentarily speechless but his attention is quickly captured by a soft cooing noise from the bundle in his arms.

Jarvis looks down, catches sight of vibrant blue eyes and thick black hair, and feels his heart _melt_.

“Hello young sir,” Jarvis whispers to the babe in his arms, “welcome home.”

~~~

Jarvis takes the babe to the nursery to settle him down personally.  Lydia will be in charge of his everyday care until he is older but Jarvis rather likes the idea of being the first of the household to tend to him.

It’s while he’s staring down at the babe, who is red faced and naked, wailing unhappily where Jarvis has stripped him down to change his diaper and clothes, that Jarvis receives a shock.

The young sir is, in fact, a _young miss_ instead.

 _Oh dear_.

On autopilot Jarvis dresses her, walks her around the nursery until she eventually calms and he can finally settle her down into the luxurious crib to sleep.

Then he sits down in the rocking chair in the corner of the room and buries his face in his hands.

Now Jarvis finally knows the cause of Sir’s dark fury and Ma’am’s indifference and it fills him with a sense of anger and dread that he finds hard to describe.

A _daughter_.

Not a _son_.

Not the son whom Sir had crowed about and Ma’am had been so satisfied to carry.

There is no _Anthony Edward Stark_ , no son to bear their chosen name, the one they had announced to the household, had monogrammed on clothes and blankets alike in anticipation of his arrival.  No son for Sir to mold in his image.  No son to whom Sir might one day pass his legacy.

Jarvis knows the Starks well enough to know that they will have little use for a _daughter_ in their plans.

That … does not bode well for the child’s future.

It is in that moment that Jarvis realizes he doesn’t even know the girl’s name.

~~~

In the week that follows Jarvis is quick to realize that no one in the entire manor seems to know her name either.

He hears the whispers that float around the manor though because there’s been no announcement of a name to the household.  Not even Lydia, the child’s own wet-nurse, knows what to call her.

Ma’am is convalescing in a private spa upstate and has been since the day after her release from the hospital.  She’d departed that morning in a whirlwind of baggage and without even a _glance_ towards the nursery.  She’d left only silence and the scent of peppermint schnapps wafting in the air behind her.

On his part Sir has been too drunk to hold a proper conversation in almost as long.

In the end Jarvis takes to officially calling her ‘young miss’ and the rest of the house staff quickly follows suit for lack of a better option.

The days pass like this and Jarvis only learns the child’s name because the official birth certificate arrives in the mail.

 _Natasha Antonia Stark_.

It’s a strong name.

Jarvis knows, deep in his heart with a sad sort of certainty, that this poor babe will need that strength.

~~~

The young miss, Natasha, is a … _difficult_ baby.

She screams _constantly_.  She cries as if her tiny heart is breaking and seems eternally inconsolable.  Lydia is often on the verge of tears for all that she is used to children and Jarvis finds himself stepping in fairly regularly to handle the babe himself.

For their part Sir and Ma’am go about their lives, back to SI and galas, back to scotch and spa days and other, seemingly more important things.  They only stop to deal with Natasha when there’s a photo shoot to be had or an opportunity to appear like a blissfully happy family for the press to be found.

Jarvis finds himself harboring a small kernel of anger and disgust towards both of them.

He buries it though, turns his focus towards his duties and, most importantly, the child.

~~~

Lydia does not last long at the manor.  Two months in and Jarvis knows the woman is fraying at the edges in the face of Natasha’s constant screams.  He waits every day in breathless dread for her to tender her resignation.

Thankfully the young miss advances quickly enough that her services are no longer needed after roughly six months.  Lydia leaves in a blur of tears and gratitude with a hefty bonus and a recommendation for future employment because Jarvis does not begrudge the woman a future.

Afterwards he finds himself playing the roles of both butler and nanny.

It is a strain at times.  Between midnight feedings and managing the day to day activities of the estate he’s run ragged at the edges, but Jarvis manages.

Peggy likes to laugh at him on their weekly calls, gleefully quips about him always having excelled at babysitting even as she asks after little Natasha frequently.  She makes plans to visit when she can and Jarvis relies on her calm certainty and steady friendship more than he’s always willing to admit.

~~~

Jarvis opens the door to the nursery only to stop at the sight of Ma’am, dressed in one of her luxurious silk lounge suits, standing over Natasha’s crib.  She’s clutching a martini glass in one hand and the railing of the crib in the other.

For some reason Jarvis feels ice trace down his spine.

“She was supposed to be a boy you know.”  Ma’am speaks suddenly and then takes a long sip from her glass.  “A son, for Howard, for SI.  Not a daughter.”

 “There will be other children Ma’am.”  Jarvis steps forward then, edges around until he can see her face.

The coldness he finds there is almost enough to make even him flinch.

“No,” she says decisively, “there won’t be.  This one,” she gestures towards the crib with her glass, “made sure of that.”

Jarvis finds that he has nothing to say in the face of such an admission, such a misplaced accusation.

So he stays silent.

She stands there for a few moments longer and then she scoffs, turns, and sweeps out of the room.

Jarvis, unsettled but unsure why, spends that night dozing fitfully in the rocking chair in the corner of the room.

~~~

“’Arvis,” Natasha slurs, and Jarvis freezes.

He turns to where she’s sitting in her high chair, grinning up at him with eyes that are almost too intelligent.  For a moment he’s sure he’s heard wrong, is sure that her first word, spoken so early, is not, cannot be, _his_ name.

“’Arvis,” she says again, this time more determined as she slams her hands down on the tray in front of her, “ _’Arvis_.”

“Very good young miss,” Jarvis manages to choke out past the lump that’s suddenly taken up residence in his throat, “very good.”

~~~

That night, when he’s pacing the nursery with her in his arms in an attempt to rock her to sleep, Natasha looks up at him again, bright blue eyes hazy with fatigue.

“’Arvis,” she whines, “ _’Arvis_.”

“Shh young miss,” Jarvis murmurs, “ _shh_.  Rest now little one.”

When she finally settles down Jarvis finds himself standing over the crib staring down at her with something like wonder in his heart.

It hits him then, like a blow to the solar plexus.

 _He loves her_.

Over the course of the months since her birth and introduction into his life he’s gone and fallen in love with the little beauty.

 _Shit_.

Jarvis slides down the wall until he’s sitting on the lush carpet beside the crib.  He folds his legs up against his chest like he used to when he was a child and buries his face in his knees.

He _loves_ her, loves her in a way he should not, loves her in a way that’s not appropriate for one of his station to love his masters’ child.

His masters who, Jarvis knows, care little enough for her well-being as it is.

This, he fears, will likely not end well for either of them.

And yet he is unable to stop it, is unable to push the love he feels for her down to more appropriate levels.

In truth he does not want to.

~~~

“She’s a gorgeous little thing,” Peggy coos, red lips curved in a slight smile as she cradles Natasha close to her chest.

“’Arvis,” Natasha squeals even as she grins up at Peggy.

“Talking already?”  Peggy looks impressed.  “So early!  What words does she know?” 

“Only my name,” Jarvis admits quietly and watches as Peggy goes still.

“Oh?”  The sharp awareness and cunning that Jarvis has always admired in Peggy is bright in her eyes.  As always she sees more than most people do, more than most people wish her to.  “Not Mama or Dada or anything else of the sort?”

“No,” Jarvis looks down, purposefully locks his gaze on Natasha’s smiling face and resolutely keeps it there, “just my name.”

~~~

The raging argument Peggy and Sir have that night is loud and _vicious_.

Sir has a bloody nose and a busted lip by the time Peggy storms out of the manor.

Jarvis clutches a screaming Natasha to his chest and watches from the shadows of the stairwell as she goes.

She doesn’t come back.

~~~

So Natasha’s first word is _Jarvis_.

Her second is  _listen_.

Her third is  _look_.

She babbles to herself constantly much to Jarvis’ amusement.  He finds himself smiling as he listens to her on the baby monitor as she makes noise in her crib.  She seems to speak just to break the quiet of the nursery that she barely ever leaves now that Lydia is gone.

Jarvis is still burdened with the responsibility of the entire household as well as any and every whim Sir and Ma’am might throw his way.  Much to his regret there’s not a lot of time to spend with the child beyond meal times and basic care.  A dedicated nanny would, honestly, be the best choice of action but neither Sir nor Ma’am have been willing to sign off on one and Jarvis finds himself strangely reluctant to press the issue.

Neither Sir nor Ma’am have been to see her in almost six months and Jarvis has grown used to being her sole source of human interaction.

They seem perfectly content with ignoring her existence.

It is _wrong_ in a way that makes his heart clench sharply.

~~~

Once she starts speaking it’s as if Natasha  _can’t_   _stop_.

She grows quickly, runs almost as soon as she’s able to stand, transitions into full sentences so fast it’s almost scary how she skips the developmental speech phase.

But those three words are still the ones she says most often.   _Jarvis look.  Jarvis listen.  Jarvis.  Jarvis.  Jarvis._

His name is her favorite word and Jarvis feels his love for her well up inside of him like an uncontrollable tide.

Still, some part of Jarvis cannot help but feel as if the way she chants his name is really a cry for help, as if she’s desperate for someone to _hear_ her.  She does, after all, spend far too much of her time alone.

He resolves to manage his schedule better, to find some way to carve out more time for her.

No child should grow up in a vacuum.

~~~

Natasha, Jarvis realizes quickly enough as she grows, is _different_.

The girl is … fast.

So fast, _too_ fast.

She’s a _hurricane_ masquerading as a little girl, a force of nature trapped in a tiny body.  She rips through books and toys that should be far outside her age range with an ease that’s unsettling.  She’s reading on her own almost before Jarvis is even aware that she’s interested in learning.  He finds her constantly in the middle of tearing something apart out of curiosity but never just for the sake of idle destruction.

She has, even at so young an age, a strange sort of intense intention to her in those moments.

All the while she screams and babbles and whirls about the manor on tiny feet.

She barely eats, she barely sleeps.  Instead she just talks and talks and _talks_ while she stares up at him with those large blue eyes that are bright enough to _burn_.

The rest of the house staff whisper about the young miss despite the way Jarvis scolds them when he catches them in the act.

She’s _special_ , Jarvis knows she is, can feel it in his bones, and he doesn’t want _anyone_ making her think anything else.

He tries to be there for her as much as he can and in the process he has his heart broken a million times over in a million different ways.

He’s the one who holds her at night, her tiny hands fisted in his nightshirt as she sobs against his neck.  He’s the one who helps her when she’s frantic and screaming, when all she can do is whimper about how her head feels _full_ even as she stumbles over her words.  Her mouth is still too young to keep pace with the mind he’s beginning to suspect is just as beautiful as the rest of her.

He’s the one who soothes her with mugs of hot milk and gentle hands as he smooths his fingers through her short cut cap of hair.  He’s the one who kneels by her bedside and tells her stories until she finally calms down.

He’s the one standing frozen when, at all of three years old, she looks up at him, face swollen with tears, hands white knuckling his apron, and asks, “Jarvis what’s  _wrong_  with me?”

Jarvis feels his gut clench sharply at the sheer misery in her voice.

“ _Nothing_  young miss.”  Jarvis bites the words out fiercely and he sees it when she focuses on him in that way she so rarely does.  “There is  _nothing_  wrong with you.”

“I’m a  _freak_.”  There is such anguish in her voice, anguish that no child so young should ever feel.

Jarvis is fiercely grateful that he’d fired the maid who’d dared to say such a thing.

“You are not a freak young miss.”  Jarvis is careful to keep a smile on his face, careful not to let his seething anger show, as he crouches down and reaches out to cup her face gently in the palms of his hands.  “You are perfect as you are.   _Different_  yes, special but not  _wrong_.”

“I wish I was  _normal_.  I wish you could fix me.”  Natasha is sobbing, tiny shoulders heaving and face red.

Jarvis feels something in his chest _crack_ , feels tear well up in his eyes.  He has to bite hard at the inside of his cheek to keep the harsh, broken noise he can feel clawing at his throat from escaping his mouth.

“You are as you were meant to be young miss.”  Jarvis tells her softly, sadly, when he can finally speak again.  “There is nothing there to fix.”

No child should say such things.

No child should think themselves broken.

~~~

Jarvis stays up half the night in his room, nursing a cold, over-steeped cup of tea as he thinks.

Natasha is smart Jarvis knows, smarter than any child he’s ever seen.  Smarter, he suspects, than even he can understand.

And that, unfortunately, is the problem.

That much intelligence needs an outlet, needs a _purpose_ , or it will eat away at a person.

Jarvis cannot, will not, allow that to happen to Natasha.

So he places a set of tool and a stack of books on math and machines that he pulls from the manor’s library at the foot of her bed while she sleeps.

It will, hopefully, be a start.

He will not stop until he finds something that helps her gain some measure of peace.

He is, much to his anguish and ever growing rage, all that she has.

~~~

“There is nothing wrong with you young miss.”  Jarvis tells her again when he goes to wake her for breakfast only to find her already awake and buried in the remnants of the large stereo system that sits in the corner of her room.  Her books and tools are sprawled out around her and she looks happier than he’s ever seen her.  “You simply have different needs than others.  There is no shame in that.  I will help you find your way.”

She beams up at him, Cupid’s bow mouth split wide in a grin and eyes so blue they _burn_.

Jarvis knows then, with a quiet and calm sort of certainty, that there is not much he would not do to protect that smile.

~~~

Natasha takes to the books and the tools like a little duck to water.

Her room transforms quickly enough, doubles as both a living space and a workshop, and her brilliance begins to shine even brighter than before.

More importantly, in Jarvis’ opinion, she eats and sleeps on a semi-regular basis, she screams less, talks just a bit calmer, smiles more often.

Jarvis heaves a deep breath in relief and makes sure she has plenty of materials.

~~~

She builds a circuit board at four and Jarvis takes her to see Sir and Mr. Stane in Sir’s office.

He is sure that such an achievement will go far to bridge the ever widening gap between father and daughter.  Surely Sir will realize that Natasha’s brilliance should be treasured, _nurtured_.  Surely he will see that as Natasha grows older they will have a common language to speak between the two of them.  That their shared brilliance could be a connection for them that so few will ever find.

Jarvis is certain that this will be the moment that Sir will realize that every dream and desire he had for the son he had so wanted is still viable with his brilliant and unique daughter.

In the end the way Sir and Mr. Stane go still when Jarvis announces what she’s accomplished, the way Sir _looks_ at her and the way Mr. Stane speaks of Natasha being _useful_ makes Jarvis uneasy.

~~~

There are press conferences after that and photo shoots.

Jarvis watches as Natasha, so small and fragile and obviously terrified, smiles for the cameras and does her best to look calm just as he’d told her earlier.

Later, when he helps her dress for bed, Jarvis hisses out a sharp breath as he finds dark bruises on her tiny shoulder.

They are, he realizes with a sick surge of recognition and horror, a perfect match for Sir’s hand.

He doesn’t say anything, just grabs the ointment and rubs the discolored skin carefully with hands that _shake_ before he tends to her hair.

“Have I told you the story of Icarus yet young miss?”  Jarvis asks her when he tucks her in that night.  He’s told her fairy stories and legends, myths and tall tales from around the world.  Icarus, he thinks, is one she might well enjoy.

“No.”  She shakes her head, obviously tired but still eager in a way that always makes him sad because he can tell it’s driven, at least in part, by her desperate desire for attention.

“Well I think you’ll find it interesting.”  Jarvis smooths her hair back from her forehead gently and begins to spin the tale.

Natasha falls asleep as he tells her the story of a boy with wax wings who flew too close to the sun but Jarvis keeps going and tells it until the very end.

He stays at her bedside for hours that night, running his fingers gently through her hair as he watches her sleep.

For the first time Jarvis wonders what would happen if he simple took her and left.

For the first time he wonders what would happen if he packed up her clothes and her tools and simply walked out of the manor with her hand in his and never looked back.

He knows that his own absence would be noticed immediately but there is a chance that it would take days, _weeks_ even, for Sir or Ma’am to realize _Natasha_ was gone.

For the first time he seriously considers doing it just to make sure he’ll never see bruises like that on her skin ever again.

He shakes the thoughts off though, aware that he’s being more than slightly ridiculous.

The bruises on her shoulder are an _accident_ , a case of Sir not knowing how to handle a child, of not knowing his own strength.  It’s shameful, of course, but far from a tragedy or a warning sign.  Sir might be cold towards Natasha but Jarvis has known the man for years now and he doesn’t, _can’t_ , believe he’d ever actually _hurt_ her.

~~~

Years later Jarvis will hate Sir, will hate _Howard_ , for proving him so very wrong.

Years later he will hate himself more for being so _bloody naïve_.

~~~

After the circuit board comes to light there are tests.

So many tests.

Jarvis waits patiently in hallways and cars, in office building waiting rooms and atriums.  Always he waits for a pale and shuffling Natasha to return to him, exhausted and burly eyed with Sir at her shoulder.

In the end the results are sweeping and awe inspiring.

The word prodigy becomes realer, becomes  _fact_ , solid and true.

Natasha Stark is a prodigy.

Jarvis is both proud and _worried_.

~~~

“Jarvis?”  Natasha whispers against her pillow, voice so low he barely hears her.  She’s obviously tired, exhausted from a day spent hunched over tools and metal with Sir breathing down her neck.

Jarvis had been pleased at first when those sessions had begun, when Sir had _finally_ taken an active interest in her and begun to spend time with his daughter.

Now though, looking at the dark circles undercutting her vibrant eyes and the little burns spotting her tiny hands that he had cleaned and bandaged, he finds himself longing for those days of cold indifference.

“Yes young miss?”  He rubs his hand carefully down the line of her spine, feels the way he can trace her tiny bones through her skin with something like awe.  She is so small, so terrifyingly fragile that sometimes Jarvis fears she will shatter beneath his touch no matter how gentle he is with her.

“Tell me about Icarus again.”  She’s grown fond of the story, has asked for it almost every time she’s slept for three months now and still shows no signs of losing interest.

“Of course young miss.”  Jarvis will tell it to her a hundred times over if it allows her to finally rest.

~~~

Sir and Ma’am send Natasha to school as soon as she turns five.

They place her in classes with children almost twice her age without even blinking an eye.  They send her out to swim, unmonitored and unprepared in all the ways that matter, with vicious little _sharks_ and never even think twice about the consequences.

Jarvis is the one who walks her to class that first day.

Jarvis is the one to crouch down in front of her and smooth her short hair away from her face as he smiles at her.

Jarvis is the one who has to pry her petite hands off of his suit jacket.

Jarvis is the one who has to send her, tiny and terrified, into that classroom.

Jarvis is the one who sits outside for an hour in an idling car, forehead pressed against the steering wheel, as he talks himself out of storming back inside and pulling her from class so he can take her _home_.

Jarvis is the one who has to convince himself that it is not his place to do such things.

She is not, after all, his daughter.

~~~

She comes home two months later with a bloody nose and haunted eyes and for Jarvis it is the last straw.

Natasha has no friends, hasn’t been able to make any no matter how hard she tries because she’s too young and too smart all at the same time.

Jarvis hates the gleam of sadness that seems ever-present in her eyes whenever he collects her from school and asks after her day.

The bloody nose and the story behind it only harden his resolve.

That night, after he’s put her to bed, Jarvis calls Peggy.

“Still no luck then?”  Peggy questions when he tells her of Natasha’s difficulties with relating to the other students. “The poor dear’s still made no friends?”

“None, and no likely candidates either the age gap being what it is.”  Jarvis huffs out a sigh and reaches up to loosen his tie a tad.  “She’s too young to be exposed to the world as she has been already.  I fear she’s being pushed forward too far, too fast.  She should be around children her own age, allowed to _play_ , to learn and grow in more ways than just academically.”

“I know she’s young Jarvis but she is brilliant.  Beyond brilliant actually from what I’ve read in the papers as well as what you’ve told me,” Peggy reasons.  “A circuit board at four is no small feat.  With that kind of intellect at her disposal forcing her to go through school at a normal pace would be almost cruel.  Give her some time old chap, I’m sure she’ll adjust.”

“You don’t understand.”  Jarvis argues as he rakes a hand through his hair in frustration.  “She has no idea how to relate to other children Peggy.  They are _cruel_ to her because of who and what she is.  She needs _help_.  Hell, at the rate things are going she needs someone to teach her to protect herself.  I had thought to teach her boxing perhaps or some other style when she was older but I’m afraid it cannot wait.  She needs to learn _now_ and I find that I would not be a … suitable teacher for her in this.”

“Now I’d say she’s a bit too young for that,” Peggy points out, “aren’t you always the one telling me that violence won’t solve everything?”

“You forget I was once a soldier as well Ms. Carter.”  Jarvis sniffs, a rush of fondness going through him at their familiar argument before he deflates again.  “And normally yes I would say she’s too young but again it cannot wait.  Just today some little cretin in her class hit her in the face with a text book and gave her a bloody nose.  You’re the only one I know who can be trusted to teach the young miss anything helpful.  She’s so  _small_.”

There’s a long silence before Peggy sighs.

“I’ll be there before the month is out.”  Peggy finally concedes and Jarvis feels his shoulders slump in relief.

~~~

Peggy Carter is, as always, a whirlwind.

All straight shoulders, red lips, and  _strength_ , she bursts into the mansion as if she owns it.  All confidence and command she bowls over Sir’s complaints and attempts to get her attention with a, “not now Howard” and a wave of her hand.

She bears down on Jarvis and Natasha with single minded focus.

Jarvis has never in all of his years met another like her.

“Hello ducky.”  Peggy grins at Natasha as she kneels down until they are eye to eye.  “I doubt you remember me but I met you when you were just a baby.”

“Hello.”  Natasha ducks her head and bites at her bottom lip, shy in a way that Jarvis has only rarely seen her.  Normally she’s a little terror when they’re together, always moving, always doing something because that mind of hers is almost incapable of giving her enough peace to remain still.

Normally the only stillness he sees from her is whenever Sir turns his focus in her direction.

Even in her sleep she moves and when she’s buried in her projects and tinkering she hums and mumbles.

Ultimately she is a wonder, an unending source of delight in Jarvis’ life, but _quiet_ is not a word he would use to describe her.

“Such a gorgeous little thing aren’t you?  Smart too from what I’ve seen.”  Peggy grins, lips a bright red curl.  “We’ll get along swimmingly I think.”

Jarvis allows himself a deep, relieved sigh.

Peggy will help him as they have always helped one another.

She will help him make sure Natasha is _safe_.

~~~

Jarvis hovers in the background that day as Peggy teaches the young miss how to make a fist properly, tells her when and how to hit someone bigger than she is, stronger.

Which, given her size, is basically everyone.

It makes him angry, makes him _sick_ , to watch, to know that someone so young must be taught such things.  But it also makes him feel relieved because he can see the budding adoration in Natasha’s eyes as she stares up at Peggy.

He has never seen Natasha show so much emotion towards anyone but himself and a small part of him had begun to worry that perhaps, just perhaps, she was not _capable_.

He can see the answering care rising in Peggy’s eyes but that is less surprising.  He’s been telling Peggy about Natasha for years now and the girl, for all of her difficulties, is ridiculously easy to love.

Jarvis knows he will _never_ be able to understand how Sir and Ma’am can retain their distance from her so easily.

~~~

That night he stands in the door way of Natasha’s room and watches as Peggy settles herself down on the side of Natasha’s bed.  For a long moment she stares at the poster that’s hung on the wall since the room had been redone as a nursery.

To his surprise Peggy takes a deep breath, turns towards Natasha, and begins to tell her a story about Steve Rogers.  She weaves a tale of his bravery, of how he’d worked with and led his men towards victory on the battlefield.  It is, perhaps, not an appropriate bedtime story but Natasha seems entranced all the same.

“He was so small in the beginning, before it all happened.”  Peggy tells her at the end even as Natasha stares at the poster of the broad shouldered blond man on her wall in obvious awe.

“He was small?”  She asks the question as if she cannot even begin to imagine it is true.

“Thin and sickly too, so small but so very brave.”  Peggy confirms with a wry little smile.  “The bravest man I ever knew ducky.  The best man I ever knew.  So when you’re frightened, when you’re upset because everyone else is so much bigger than you, just remember that Steve was small once too but his mind, his  _heart_ , those were the parts of him that really mattered.  Those were the things that made him truly mighty.”

There’s a long moment of silence and then Natasha turns to him, blue eyes bright and determined.

“Jarvis?” 

“Yes young miss?”  He can’t help the warmth that always tinges his voice when he talks to her, has stopped trying to hide the true depth of his feelings for her from all but Sir and Ma’am even if he is careful with how he shows it.

“Will you tell Aunt Peggy and me about Icarus?”  She looks so hopeful that Jarvis wants nothing more than to sweep her up into his arms and never let her go.

“Of course young miss.”

As if he could ever tell her no, as if there is anything he would not give her if he could.

~~~

“She’s so _small_.”  Peggy sounds dazed as she stares down into the cup of tea she’s cradling between her palms.  “You had said as much but …”

“Indeed.”  Jarvis knows _exactly_ how she feels.  Natasha is a tiny, fragile thing.  Undersized for even her age but filled with so much energy that it’s sometimes easy to forget just how young and small she really is.

“She reminds me of him you know?”  Peggy sips her tea, face pensive and just a shade off sad.  “I know she’s young still but there’s a fire in those blue eyes of hers that reminds me of him.  And a sadness.”

“She’s not him Peggy.”  Jarvis cautions carefully, unsure of just where this conversation is going.

“I know she’s not.”  Peggy smiles softly.  “But I think, in some ways, she might need him far more than I ever did.”

~~~

After that first night Natasha can’t seem to get enough of Captain America or, more accurately, of _Steve Rogers_ and his Howling Commandos.

Peggy indulges her of course, stories of Steve Rogers bubbling out of her with an easy Jarvis has never seen before.

Normally speaking of him pains Peggy in a way Jarvis doesn’t like to see, but with Natasha as her audience Peggy seems almost eager to share.

Jarvis encourages the obsession, partly because it is the first relatively age appropriate thing the young miss has ever shown an interest in and partly because it makes her so obviously happy.

Together he and Peggy shower her in comic books and posters, in toys and books and even an action figure that Peggy purchases.

Natasha clutches at it, calls it Cap with an adorable sort of certainty, and carries it with her everywhere.  Jarvis listens to her talk to _Cap_ constantly through the baby monitor he still employs whenever she’s holed up in her room tinkering.

~~~

“Jarvis?”  Natasha looks nervous almost, feet shuffling and knuckles white around Cap, a smear of grease high on the arch of one delicate cheekbone.  “Aunt Peggy?”

“Yes young miss?”  Jarvis turns towards her even as Peggy hums an affirmative to let Natasha know she’s paying attention.

“I want … can I …” She trails off, bites at her bottom lip and huffs out a frustrated breath before she squares her little shoulders in determination, “Can you call me Toni?”

“Come again?”  Jarvis puts down the knife he’s been using to slice apples with and wipes his hands on his towel.

“I want you to call me Toni.”  She raises her stubborn little chin but Jarvis can see the nervousness in her eyes, in the way her shoulders hunch back in without her permission.

“Why ducky?”  Peggy grabs her attention.

Natasha rambles out her answer in that quick fire way she has.  She tells them about how she wants a nickname like Bucky and Dum-Dum and Gabe all had.  She tells them that it’s because Toni sounds  _friendlier_ , and maybe that’ll make the other kids like her better.

There is heartbreak in her young face and a ragged sort of desperation underlining every word she speaks.

Jarvis has to close his eyes and take a slow, deep breath as sadness wells up inside of him.  When he looks at Peggy again he can tell by the slight shimmer in her eyes that she feels the same way.

“Of course young miss.”  Jarvis hears himself say as if from a distance.  “Of course.”

‘ _Oh child_ ,’ he thinks unhappily, ‘ _oh sweet child_.’

Because he knows it’s _not_ going to work and for all of her intelligence Natasha, _no it’s Toni now_ , is just too young to understand why.

But he will give her this small thing.

Because he can.

~~~

A month into Peggy’s stay Ma’am comes back to the manor early and swans into the kitchen where Toni has been entertaining both him and Peggy with tales of her latest experiment.  She’s bright eyed and happy, tiny feet swinging in the air because she’s too small to reach the floor from the chair she’s climbed onto.

Ma’am steps into the kitchen and seems to suck all the warmth from the room with her presence alone.  She trades barbs with Peggy for a few seconds before her attention shifts towards Toni.

Then Jarvis has to stand there and watch as she inspects Toni like a horse at auction.

He has to stand there and listen as she callously tells her own child about how Sir had wanted a son instead of the daughter he’d received.

He has to stand there and watch, unable to say a word, as that tiny, _precious_ , girl shatters before his very eyes.

Deep inside Jarvis seethes.

~~~

“That _bitch_.”  Peggy fumes that night in the safety and privacy of Jarvis’ room, a short glass of bourbon clutched in her hand as she paces across the carpet.  “How could she say that to her?  _How_?”

Jarvis stays silent even as he rubs furiously at his boots with a rag and polish.  He is trying and failing to work out some of the aggression that he harbors but doesn’t allow himself to show.

The only answers he could give Peggy would just make her more furious.

~~~

Eventually Peggy leaves as she must.

Toni is obviously sad to see her go but Peggy showers her with attention and gifts, promises to write and call before she kisses her softly on the cheek and then finally goes.

The young miss doesn’t sleep for three days afterwards.

And when she finally does go to bed Jarvis sits with her, tells her the story of Icarus yet again, and tries not to let each ragged sob she lets loose cut him directly to the quick.

He fails.

~~~

Jarvis watches Toni grow with equal parts terror and awe.

She turns six, alone and quiet, ignored as always by Sir and Ma’am.

Jarvis makes sure to bake a cake for her, an orange chocolate gateau because he knows she loves it, and buys her a small present.

It’s not much really, just a delicate ivory brush set for the hair she refuses to allow anyone to cut now.  The way her eyes light up at the sight of the bright red wrapping paper makes the effort worthwhile.

That night, and every night afterwards, he carefully, _gently_ , picks up those brushes and tends to her hair.

~~~

She’s just two days shy of seven when her private school calls the manor with the news that Toni has assaulted another student.

Jarvis goes and collects her, listens calmly to her story, and tells her that while he doesn’t approve of violence as a rule she does have a right to defend herself.

Privately he’s viciously pleased that she laid the little brute out.

Sir is furious when they arrive back at the manor, he’s pacing the front hall when Jarvis pulls open the door and ushers Toni inside.  Ma’am is lingering on the second floor landing, watching everything with a haughtily raised brow and a moue of disdain.

Jarvis watches in dismay as Sir rants at Toni about acceptable behavior, screams at her about her being an embarrassment to his name, and then _slaps_ Toni full across the face.

“ _Howard_.”  Ma’am scolds and for a brief moment Jarvis thinks she’s going to interfere.

Instead she only tisks, reminds Sir not to damage Toni’s face, ‘ _the press Howard’_ , and goes back upstairs.

Jarvis is horror struck.

~~~

Afterwards Jarvis gathers a bit of ice for the darkening bruise on her face and gently pats the small bead of blood away from the corner of her mouth with the edge of his handkerchief.

Toni stares up at him, face pale, eyes wide, and shoulders shaking in breathy, bitten off sobs.

“ _Shh_ young miss,” Jarvis soothes her even as his mind is a flurry of half formed, panicked thoughts, “it’s alright now.  You’re okay.  Everything is going to be alright.”

Finally he gets her calm and gets her tucked into bed.

“Icarus again tonight young miss?”  He’s almost desperate for something, _anything_ , to comfort her with.

“ _Please_.”

~~~

When she finally falls asleep Jarvis sits at her bedside and stares at the bruise on her cheek for the longest time.

~~~

Six days later Toni builds her first engine.

Two days later her latest accomplishment is presented to the press.

That afternoon Sir gets roaring drunk and _then_ … then he goes for Toni.

Afterwards, when it’s _finished_ , Jarvis sweeps into her room, steps past the shattered crystal, past the broken metal and scattered gears of what was once her latest project, gathers her close to his chest, and whisks her away to his room.

Toni is worryingly, _terrifyingly_ , silent the entire time.

He sits her down on the edge of his bed and carefully picks shards of crystal from her skin and hair, blots at the tiny beads of blood where a few have broken the skin.

When he’s done he goes to stand but the feel of thin arms wrapping around his neck freezes him into place.

With a small, broken sigh Jarvis sits down on the edge of his bed instead and shifts Toni around until she’s huddled against his side.

He strokes his hand once, twice, three times over her hair and then she _breaks_.

The sound of her sobs echo in his ears like gunshots.

~~~

That night, when the manor is quiet and still, when Sir and Ma’am have retired to their rooms and Toni has cried herself into an exhausted sleep, Jarvis creeps out of his own room and back upstairs.

He makes his way to Toni’s room, strides towards her closet and pulls down a suitcase from the top shelf.

He packs her clothes, her tools, Cap, and a few other essentials with brisk efficiency and then strides back out the room and heads towards the garage.  He puts the suitcase in the backseat of one of the less ostentatious town cars Sir owns and turns on his heel to head back towards the house.

He goes back to his own room, pulls his own suitcase down from his closet along with the black leather briefcase he never uses.

He’s half way through packing his own things when Toni shifts with a small moan where she’s asleep on his bed.  He pauses, turns to look at her, and for the first time realizes exactly what he’s in the middle of doing.

Technically he’s about to _kidnap_ _Natasha Stark_ , the only daughter of _Howard Stark_.

 _Shit_.

He’s about to become a criminal, about to subject Toni to a life of running until they’re either caught or people stop looking for them.

And Sir, Jarvis knows, would _never_ stop.

No if he knew _Jarvis_ had taken her Howard Stark would tear the world apart to get her back.

What’s worse is that it wouldn’t even be out of _love_.

No, Jarvis knows it would have nothing to do with love at all.  It would be about _pride_ instead.

Just like Sir’s eternal search for Steve Rogers.

In that moment Jarvis knows that he can’t do this, knows that he can’t simply take her away.

They would be hunted.  They would be found.

He would go to prison and she would be left alone in this house with these people.

For a brief moment he thinks about going to Peggy with the issue but he knows it will do no good.

There’s little in the way of proof of actual abuse and besides, neither Jarvis nor Peggy, with all of her might, would ever be able to stand up to the power the Stark name wields.

They are both trapped here, in this place, with no other alternative than to endure and hope this is a one-time occurrence.

~~~    

Jarvis has long known that hope can sometimes be more painful than anything else.

He hates being proven right once again.

~~~

Toni learns and creates more and more and Jarvis watches helplessly as Sir gets more and more violent in response.

Her face is left relatively unscathed but the young miss is bruised more often than not beneath the sleeves of her sweaters.

Jarvis has never felt so helpless, or so useless.

~~~

When she’s eight Toni fails to meet Jarvis outside the gates to her private school.

He goes inside only to find out that she’s nowhere to be found.

They search the grounds and the buildings and then the police are called in and everyone is doubly frantic because she’s nowhere to be found.

The ransom call comes three hours later.

Jarvis has to watch as Sir screams abuse at the kidnappers despite the protestations of the officers around him and announces that he’ll _never_ pay a ransom because _Starks don’t negotiate with criminals_.

Jarvis is sure in that moment that she’s _dead_ , that they’ll find her body, her tiny, fragile body, somewhere after this.

He’s so sure that he’s lost her.

‘ _Daughter_ ,’ some part of his mind whispers mournfully, ‘ _daughter, daughter, daughter.  Not my daughter_.’

He knows better than to actually speak the words aloud though.

Instead he moves towards the kitchen, pours himself a shot of whiskey with hands that shake, and ignores the pale and anxious faces of the rest of the staff.

Then he pulls himself together and steps back into the fray.

~~~

Toni’s found four days later, wandering aimlessly down one of the busy city streets, and rushed to the nearest hospital.

Jarvis gets there as fast as he can, Sir and Ma’am are in the backseat of the town car but it might as well be empty for all that he cares.

He sucks in a sharp, shallow breath when he finally sees her for the first time in almost a week.

She’s pale, obviously dehydrated and riddled with cuts and bruises.  There’s a splint on two of her little fingers, one of her eyes is swollen shut, and there are rope burns around her wrists and ankles.

There are bruises on her throat.

She’s been _beaten_.

She’s also refusing to talk.

Jarvis stands in the back of the room as Sir and Ma’am talk to the officers who are crowded in the room, as they try to convince Toni to tell them anything and everything she remembers.

Toni just stares straight past them and directly at Jarvis instead.

Jarvis holds her gaze, offers her what comfort he can with a small smile, and doesn’t falter even when she remains quiet.

Eventually everyone leaves, Sir and Ma’am included, and Jarvis stays on the pretense of being a bodyguard and a familiar face while they handle the press and things of that nature.

Toni stares up at him silently as he carefully brushes her hair away from her face.

Jarvis tells her the story of Icarus again and again.

~~~

Peggy has to talk him through a small break down over the phone a few days later when they’re finally back at the manor.

The sight of Toni’s bruises, darkened with age and vicious looking, is almost too much for him to handle on top of everything else.

~~~

It takes two months before Toni speaks again.

Her first word is, “Jarvis.”

He cries himself to sleep that night.

~~~

Toni turns nine and Sir breaks her arm in two separate places amidst yet another drunken rage.

Jarvis has to rush Toni to the hospital, has to lie about her injuries, and watch as she’s taken into x-ray and then bundled into a cast.

Toni just tangles the fingers of her good hand in the hem of her Captain America t-shirt, turns her face into the thick tangle of curls that’s slowly creeping further and further down her back, and doesn’t say a word.

Jarvis sits at her bedside that night and tells her the story of Icarus over and over again until she finally falls asleep.

It’s not enough, it’ll never be enough.

He hates himself for allowing this to keep happening.

~~~

The next day he takes her to the aquarium, tries to distract her with sharks and sting rays and oceanic facts.

The way she smiles up at him, so trusting, so loving, despite the fact that he knows he doesn’t deserve her love, makes him _ache_.

~~~

At ten she’s taken again and Jarvis is _frantic_.

Sir and Ma’am are both out of the country and completely unreachable.  Jarvis knows they likely wouldn’t care even if they knew.

Jarvis’ hands _shake_ as he calls the police yet again.

When Toni herself calls him the next day from a payphone Jarvis practically mows the officers who are loitering around the manor down in his rush to get to her.

“Young miss,” he breathes as he sweeps her up off the ground in a rare show of open affection because there is no one there to witness it who matters.  He puts her down a few seconds later so he can run frantic hands over her.  “Are you alright?  Did they let you go?”

“I got out on my own.”  She tells him proudly.  “I missed you Jarvis.”

“And I you, young miss.”  Jarvis blinks back his tears.  “And I you.”

~~~

“They were nice.”  It’s all Toni will tell Jarvis when he asks her about the people who took her later on after she’s already been fruitlessly questioned by the police.

“They didn’t hurt you at all?”  She has, he knows, grown used to hiding injuries so he’s reluctant to take her word for it even though she’s already been examined by a doctor.

“They were nice,” she says yet again and there’s something solemn in her voice and in her gaze that makes him stop, makes him look at her and pay attention.  “They were nice but I missed you.”

The implications of that statement makes him go cold inside.

~~~

The young miss is eleven when things change.

Sir is drunk, as is normal these days, and in a towering rage, which is also normal.

He’s railing at her about some project he’d set her to work on, screaming about her being _lazy_ , about her being _slow_.

The backhand he gives her is swift and harsh and Toni goes down in a clatter.

Only this time … this time she gets back up.

Jarvis watches, breathless and heartsick, as she pushes herself back up onto her feet, tilts her delicate chin up stubbornly, and stares up at Sir.

Sir just sneers and knocks her back down again  _hard_.

She gets back up.

He puts her down again.

She gets back up.

Over and over again until she’s clawing at the wainscoting in order to pull herself back up.

Jarvis is frozen in place, one of the maids, Jocelyn, is sobbing quietly behind him, hands clutching the back of his jacket.

He watches as Sir finally huffs at her in disgust, turns on his heel and walks away.

It is in that moment that he sees it.

Beaten, mouth bloody and face bruised, Toni stares at Sir’s retreating back and _smiles_.

~~~

After that night nothing is the same.

~~~

Sir is even more vicious than normal.

Toni seems determined to match him point for point with scathing words and a defiant stance.

“I’m going to be mighty one day Jarvis,” Toni tells him one day as he’s bandaging her ribs.  She looks him directly in the eyes, her own as bright and burning as a flame.  “I’m not going to let him stop me.”

“Of course young miss,” Jarvis agrees, “of course.”

He hates the way he’s let her down so thoroughly.

He hates the way he hasn’t been able to protect her.

~~~

She graduates from high school at twelve and Jarvis is the only one there to watch her walk.  She’s almost two foot shorter than most of her classmates but her shoulders are straight and she walks with confidence and pride across the stage.

Jarvis is so very proud of her.

~~~

Problems arise again when it comes time for her to choose a university.

Sir and Ma’am argue over whether she’ll attend his alma mater or one of the posh finishing schools that Jarvis knows Toni would likely burn to the ground out of boredom.

The young miss on the other hand has her heart so obviously set on attending MIT.

Sir’s refusal to sign the admittance papers is one blow too many and Jarvis sees something begin to die in her eyes.  He sees it as some spark that she’s always carried within her begins to flicker like a candle in a breeze.

He won’t, _can’t_ , allow that to happen.

~~~

Jarvis slips into Sir’s study after Toni has been harshly dismissed.

“What is it now Jarvis?”  Sir asks gruffly even as he reaches for the decanter of scotch that sits on the side board.

“The young miss has her eyes set on attending MIT in the fall Sir.”  Jarvis keeps his voice and his face as calm and steady as possible.

“She’s not going and that’s final,” Sir spins around and narrows his eyes, “I don’t appreciate you trying to convince me otherwise.  Remember who pays your wage Jarvis.”

“I am well aware of my status as your employee Sir.”  Jarvis says calmly.  “Yet I must insist that you sign the paperwork and allow the young miss to attend the school of her choice.”

“I’m not signing any goddamn thing.”  Sir snarls as he slams his empty tumbler down onto his desk.  “Except maybe your pink slip if you keep pressing the issue.”

“Fire me then.”  Jarvis calls his bluff quietly because for all Sir’s pomp Jarvis is the one who runs the household and they both know he isn’t going anywhere, especially not now.  “Try to terminate my employment if that’s what you want to do but you _will_ sign these papers and you _will_ allow her to attend MIT.”

“I will, will I?”

“Yes, you will.”  Jarvis takes a step forward, lays the papers down gently on the desk, and slides them in Sir’s direction.  “You will sign these because if you don’t or if you fire me I will walk out of this room and out of this house and my next stop will be the local news station.”

“You-” Sir sputters indignantly but Jarvis cuts him off.

“I will tell them and anyone else who listens all about how you treat the young miss, about the bruises and the blood.  I will scream it from the _mountain tops_ about how the great _Howard Stark_ beats his only daughter, his _prodigy child_ , until she’s back and blue on a regular basis.”

“No one will believe you.”  Sir’s sounds almost composed but Jarvis can see the budding anger and fear in his eyes.

“Perhaps, perhaps not,” Jarvis folds his hands behind his back and straightens his shoulders, “but the speculation would, undoubtedly, be damaging for Stark Industries don’t you agree?  The _scandal_ would surely affect stock prices and future contracts.  After all that sort of gossip never _truly_ goes away as you well know.  Not to mention what Ms. Carter would do if she caught wind of such a thing.”

“You blackmailing son of a bitch.”  Sir seethes.  “I’d bury you and Peggy both in lawsuits if it came to that.  I’d fight you both every step of the way.  You’d be ruined.”

“Give her this.”  Jarvis interrupts again.  “Give her this one thing and I will keep my silence and continue to serve as faithfully as I always have.  She’s undeniably brilliant and MIT is a well-respected university.  She’ll excel there just as she would anywhere else.  Send her to live on campus and she’ll be out from underfoot as well.”

They argue back and forth for a while longer and Jarvis does his best to stay calm and collected.

Finally Sir falls silent, just stares at him for a moment, and then reaches forward to roughly pull the papers closer to him.

It’s been almost an hour when he finally comes out of the study, Sir on his heels. He roughly thrusts the admission papers to MIT in Toni’s direction and then stalks off towards the stairs without another word.

“How did you do that?”  Toni asks as she stares up at him with wide eyes.

“I simply informed Sir of the benefits of allowing you to attend the school of your choice.”  Jarvis ushers her back towards her room with a warm hand between her shoulder blades.  There’s no need to worry her with all of the details.

“Thank you.”  Toni whispers and then she whirls around and wraps her arms around his waist in the sort of tight hug he so rarely allows her.

Such affection is dangerous out in the open where Sir or Ma’am might see.

But today Jarvis just reaches out, tucks one long, thick curl behind her ear and _smiles_.

~~~

The next few months fly by as he works to make sure everything is perfectly arranged for her move.

The night before she’s set to leave Jarvis sits with her in the kitchen and tell her the story of Icarus yet again.

The next morning he packs her and her baggage into the town car.

She falls asleep, bruised and obviously sore from Sir’s parting gift, and Jarvis drives slowly, carefully, not eager at all to see her gone from him but eager to see her free of the manor all at the same time.

He’s going to miss her but she should be far safer at MIT than she’s ever been at home.

~~~

He gets her settled, gets her suite arranged and everything put in its place, and has to force himself not to pull her against his chest and refuse to let go.

Leaving her is one of the hardest things he’s ever had to do.

~~~

They have a standing phone date for once a week but she calls him far more often and after a time he begins to call her as well.

She tells him of her classes and her experiments, of the course work and how the other students are no different than those from her other schools.

She doesn’t make friends, but honestly Jarvis wasn’t truly expecting her to.

She’s become a creature of spun sugar and razor blades by now, sweet and sharp and as liable to melt in someone’s grasp as she is to cut them all at the same time.

It’s difficult to bear when she calls him, half frantic and obviously overwhelmed and begs him for her story.

He tells it to her of course, and then he tells it to her again.

He’s tired, drained and achy, when he finally hangs up the phone.

He loves her most fervently, loves her more than he’s ever loved anything or anyone he’s ever loved in his life, and he is _terrified_ for her.

~~~

It becomes routine, those phone calls, during the months she’s gone from the manor.

He misses her but he prefers the calls over the times she’s back in the manor and Sir wastes no time in going after her in a rage.

He prefers the distance to being forced to watch as Sir constantly hounds her to build better, faster, smarter.

Those first two years are hard.

~~~

Jarvis has often thought of killing Sir.

Honestly he’s not sure what, exactly, has stopped him.

Perhaps it’s only the fear of leaving Toni alone when he’s inevitably caught.

~~~

James Rhodes is a pleasant surprise on the heels of Toni’s assault.

The way she sounds, happy and almost incredulous, as she describes him as _her friend_ makes Jarvis’ heart skip a beat in sheer joy.

It doesn’t stop him from calling Peggy though and seeing if she’d be able to dig up anything and everything she can on the young man.

~~~

Telling Toni not to come to the manor for Christmas that year hurts but Jarvis is determined.

Sir had been in a dark mood after the article about the young miss had been printed.

Jarvis dreads to think of what would happen if she returned.

~~~

Jarvis hears second hand through their phone calls as Toni grows into her friendship with Rhodes.

He likes it, likes hearing her talk about someone so enthusiastically.

It’s unusual for her and it’s also fantastic.

It’s in those moments that Jarvis begins to _plan_.

~~~

Inside Jarvis’ mind is a clock, counting down until the very moment Toni turns eighteen.

To the very moment when Sir and Ma’am will no longer have any legal hold on her.

Because he knows that as soon as that moment comes Toni will _run_.

She will run far and fast and will never look back.

She will rip herself away from Sir and Ma’am’s cruelty and indifference and will finally fly free.

Jarvis intends to be by her side every step of the way one way or another.

He will do his best to protect her then as he is not able to protect her now.

~~~

He puts his affairs in order just to be safe, gets a new will written up and leaves everything he has to Peggy and Toni.

On impulse he buys a recorder and the next time Toni calls to beg for her story he presses the record button before he begins to weave his tale.

Afterwards, he sits at his desk and pulls out a thick sheet of cream colored paper and his favorite fountain pen.

He sits there, staring at the desk top blankly, before he finally puts the pen to use.  There’s a pile of crumpled paper on the desk before he finally gets it right, before he realizes exactly what he wants to say to her.

He pours himself into the short letter, says all of the things he’s always wanted to say but never could for one reason or another.

He tells Toni of his shame and regret.  He tells her of his fear.

More importantly though he tells her of his love.

He encourages her to set her own path in life and to, above all else, always remember that he loves her no matter what.

Both recorder and letter are given to his attorney for safe keeping.

It’s not enough.

It’ll never be enough.

But it’s all that he has at the moment.

Perhaps, in the future when he is gone, it might provide some sort of comfort for her.

Perhaps.

~~~

“Rest young miss.”  Jarvis speaks softly as he reaches out and brushes her hair back from her face.  He hates seeing her like this, pained and pale and trying so hard to be brave and strong.  “I’m afraid I’ll be driving Sir and Ma’am to the gala tonight but should you need anything Henrietta will be available until I return.”

“Jarvis?”  Toni turns her face just slightly into palm of his hand in an affectionate gesture that makes him smile.

“Yes young miss?”  He already knows exactly what she’s going to ask.

“Will you tell me the story of Icarus before you go?”

“Of course young miss.”  Jarvis agrees softly.

As if he could ever tell her no, as if there is anything he would not give her if he could.

~~~

When death comes for Jarvis that night it wears a familiar face.

Jarvis doesn’t fight it, _him_.  He can’t.  He doesn’t have the strength to fight anymore.

He can already feel the blood welling up in his lungs, can feel the way breathing is slowly becoming harder and harder to do.

He knows that his time has come one way or another.

So Jarvis doesn’t fight.

Instead he closes his eyes and thinks of Toni.

He thinks of her calloused hands, of her too blue eyes and broken smile.

He thinks of her wild tumble of raven curls, of the way she looks standing in the sunlight of the garden, clad in crimson and highlighted with gold.

He thinks of her too fast mind, of the way she’s always raced so far ahead of everyone else around her.

He thinks of how at least now she’ll be safe from Howard’s cruelty and Maria’s indifference.  _Howard and Maria, not Sir and Ma’am because he is dying and death brings equality to them all_.

He thinks of how he knows this will hurt her, will pain her terribly, but it will not _break_ her because she’s too strong for that, too _mighty_.

Eyes closed, lungs welling up with blood, Jarvis smiles and thinks of Toni.

Of his beautiful, brilliant, _daughter_.

‘ _Toni_ ’, his mind whispers, ‘ _Toni, little love, I’m sorry.  So sorry Toni.  Be strong.  Oh I do love you so._ ’

‘ _Daughter_ , _daughter, daughter, daugh-_ ’

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys liked it!
> 
> Please let me know what you thought as well as dropping any other ideas/requests for elaborations and side stories you might have.


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